


Sick Leave

by Small_Hobbit



Series: Legacy [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-07 13:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1901211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanley Hopkins is devoted to his job as a DI.  When he is injured and forced to take sick leave it is not going to be easy for him or those around him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place a few months after "Legacy". The orphaned Isabel Watson lives with her guardians Uncle Sherlock and Uncle Stanley.
> 
> Very many thanks to ImpishTubist for all her encouragement, inspiration and beta. All mistakes are mine.

Stanley Hopkins opened the flat door with difficulty. Having his left arm in a sling meant that he had to put his bag down before he could put his key in the door. Once inside he nodded to Mrs Hudson, who said, “She’s upstairs in her bedroom.”

“Thank you for staying with her. I appreciate it.”

“No problem at all, dear. Be warned, she is very upset.”

Mrs Hudson let herself out as Stanley walked up the stairs to Isabel’s bedroom. As Stanley entered Isabel rolled over to face the wall.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Stanley said, as he sat down on the bed.

Isabel ignored him.

“It was completely unexpected.”

Isabel still ignored him. Stanley was just thinking that he should leave her for the moment and come back in a while, when she rolled towards him.

“You promised,” she said. “You said there was no danger. And there was.”

Abruptly she sat up and threw herself against Stanley’s chest, sobbing. Stanley held her as tightly as he could with one arm and rocked her to and fro.

“And I thought I was alone,” she added.

“No, darling. You’ll never be alone.”

Gradually she stopped crying. Stanley took her back downstairs. She refused his offer of food, but agreed to some hot chocolate. They made it together, Stanley boiling the kettle and pouring the hot water, Isabel stirring her chocolate and his coffee.

They sat side by side on the sofa, drinking their drinks. Slowly Isabel started to fall asleep on Stanley’s shoulder.

“Time for bed,” Stanley said.

“I’m not going,” Isabel said firmly.

“It’s okay, I won’t be going out tonight.”

Isabel began to cry again.

“Do you want to sleep on the sofa tonight?” Stanley asked.

“Yes, please.”

Stanley nodded and went to collect the spare bedding from his bedroom. About four months after Isabel had come to live with Sherlock and Stanley she had started having the occasional bad nightmare, terrified that she had been left alone. No amount of reassurance would convince her that she wasn’t going to wake up in the morning to find they had both gone. In the end Sherlock had suggested that if she slept on the sofa they would have to walk past her when they left their bedroom, so she would know before they could leave her. Stanley hadn’t been convinced, especially since Isabel never seemed to notice if they went to the kitchen or bathroom during the night, but it was sufficient to convince her that she was safe. Sherlock maintained that so long as she could hear Stanley snoring she wouldn’t worry.

They hadn’t needed to let her sleep on the sofa very often, and it had been several months since the last occurrence, but following the scare he had given the young girl, and with Sherlock currently away, it seemed the best solution.

Making the bed up one-handed proved as difficult as making a hot drink. Once again Isabel had to help him. Stanley was coming to realise that the next few days were going to be very difficult. Fortunately it wasn’t long before Isabel fell asleep. Frustrated at his inability to perform even simple tasks without a great deal of effort Stanley decided to have a glass of whisky and go to bed. Even here he was thwarted, being unable to unscrew the top of the new bottle with one hand, so he told himself it was probably best that he didn’t mix painkillers and alcohol.

***

Isabel was very quiet at breakfast the following morning. After they had eaten Stanley told her to get ready for school while he got dressed for work. He checked that the dressing on his side was still in place, but discovered when he tried to retie the bandage round his chest that it was impossible to do one-handed. He was just thinking he would have to send Isabel down to ask Mrs Hudson for her help when there was a knock on the bedroom door.

“You can come in,” he called out.

Isabel came in looking totally miserable. “I don’t want to leave you,” she said.

“I know, sweetheart.”

Stanley felt worse than ever. He had a young girl who was expecting him to take care of her and he couldn’t even bandage himself up. He missed Sherlock. Previously, when Isabel had been afraid of leaving them to go to school, Sherlock had always promised to be there to pick her up, because ‘there was a pot plant they had to buy for Mrs Hudson’ or ‘Auntie Molly was coming to tea’ and she would accept the idea and go to school without too much worry. Of course, it did mean that there were then rapid phone calls to ensure Molly could come to tea, or Mrs Hudson had to be primed to be overjoyed at the arrival of yet another pot plant, but if that was what it took to reassure Isabel then no-one minded.

But now, Stanley was sitting on his bed in his work trousers, but no shirt, twisting a bandage ineffectively round his chest and feeling like a complete failure.

“Do you want me to bandage you up?” Isabel asked.

“Do you think you can manage to do so?”

Isabel demonstrated that she was perfectly capable of bandaging him.

“Shall I do your shirt buttons as well? When Megan broke her arm we had to help her with her buttons when she was at school.”

Stanley nodded. With Isabel’s help he finished getting ready. They left the flat with Isabel holding Stanley’s hand very firmly and carrying his bag for him. He decided he couldn’t cope with taking her to school and said,

“You’d better come to work with me today.”

***

Stanley had left Isabel in his office when he went to talk to his team about the events of the previous afternoon. He wasn’t the only one who had been injured. One DS was still in hospital, although expected to be able to leave that day, while a DC was at home on sick leave. DCI Moore came in and saw him standing in the middle of the room.

“Hopkins, what are you doing here?” he asked.

“I have matters that need dealing with, sir.”

“I’d like to discuss this with you.”

“Yes sir, I’ll be with you very soon.”

Moore left the room and headed for Stanley’s office. He walked inside and saw Isabel. He turned round and marched straight back to where he had seen Stanley.

“Hopkins, there’s a child in your office.”

“I know, sir, I couldn’t leave her at home.”

“I want to talk to you, _now_!”

Stanley followed Moore back to his office.

Once they were inside, Moore closed the door. “Hopkins, you are going to take this girl home. And then you are going to stay there and look after her. I understand that you feel it is important for your team that you are here working with them. But they will also understand that you need to stay home to recuperate. There’s plenty of spadework they can be getting on with for a couple of days and I will personally keep an oversight on what is happening until you come back. So, pack your bag and take yourself and your child home. In fact, I’ll get one of the DCs to drive you home.”

Once they got back to 221B Stanley found that Mrs Hudson had made a shepherd’s pie for their dinner, with a note that said ‘not your housekeeper, but just this once.’ Having eaten, Stanley and Isabel settled back on the sofa to watch a DVD. It wasn’t long before Stanley started to fall asleep, so Isabel slipped out of the way and went to find her jigsaw which she spread out over the coffee table.

She was concentrating on a patch of yellow flowers when she heard the front door opening. She looked up and grinned when she saw Sherlock coming in. He put his finger to his lips, so she made her way quietly across the room to give him a hug.

“I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow,” she whispered.

“Since Uncle Stanley had been injured I changed my plans and came back as soon as I could.”

Sherlock walked over to the sofa, noted the bedding that was bundled up at one end, gave Isabel a quick glance and then took one of the blankets and covered Stanley with it.

“Come into the kitchen,” he added. “You can tell me all about it.”

In the kitchen Isabel once more threw her arms around Sherlock and buried her face in his chest.

“I was frightened,” she said “I thought, I thought ...”

“You thought Uncle Stanley was so badly hurt that he wouldn’t come home ever again and that something would happen to me too.”

Sherlock felt Isabel nodding her head.

“I can understand that. And I think it was very sensible of you to sleep on the sofa last night. Did you go to school today?”

“No, Uncle Stanley took me to work and then he was sent home again. Do you think he’ll be in trouble for taking me?”

“No, just for trying to work when he’s been hurt.”

“But you do that.”

“I know. But it doesn’t mean it’s always a good idea. Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Just this.”

Isabel found her school bag and pulled out a birthday invitation. Sherlock scowled at the sparkly nature of the paper.

“You are invited to Antonia’s party this Saturday. That’s nice.” Sherlock’s intonation said he could think of several events he’d rather attend. “Do you want to go?”

“No.”

“Very wise. Held to impress. Posh party food, so no jelly and ice cream. Expectation of expensive present and reciprocal invitation to equally obnoxious event.”

Isabel smiled.

“Uncle Stanley had said he’d take me to Kew Gardens on Saturday, but if he can’t then perhaps I should go to the party.”

Sherlock checked his calendar. “I’ve got to see someone first thing Saturday, so why don’t we ask Uncle Greg to take you?”

Isabel nodded, although her disappointment was evident.

“We’ll ask Uncle Greg to take you and then I can meet you there as soon as I’ve finished. And if Uncle Stanley is okay he can come too and we can have a family day out. How does that sound?”

“What about the party?”

“I shall write a note explaining that you have an important prior engagement which cannot be broken. And would Antonia like to come with us next time we go to McDonalds?”

Isabel grinned. “She’d hate that.”

Sherlock grinned back. “Good.”

A groan from the living room alerted them to the fact that Stanley was waking up. They went through to see him.

Stanley was sitting up. He smiled weakly at Sherlock. “You didn’t need to come back, I was coping all right.”

“Of course. I just wanted to see how my two favourite people were.” Turning to Isabel, Sherlock added “Why don’t you choose one of the Disney DVDs whilst I make us all a drink?”

The three of them sat together on the sofa whilst the DVD played. Sherlock closed his eyes and mentally reviewed the case he was working on. Ordinarily the banality of a Disney film would have grated, but he knew the few they owned so well that they washed straight over him. He was aware that the significance wasn’t with the plot – which all three would have mercilessly dissected in other circumstances – but that watching it symbolised the safety of their family back together again after a difficult period. He even found himself singing along with some of the songs and then smiling as he heard Isabel giggle that they had sung the wrong words _again_.

Later, once Sherlock had replaced the dressing on Stanley’s side and Isabel - despite Stanley’s objections – had again bandaged him up (Sherlock saying that it was good for her to be involved in Stanley’s recovery), and Isabel had gone to bed (with Sherlock home and Stanley on the mend she raised no difficulty with sleeping in her own bed); Sherlock went to pour two glasses of whisky.

“I’m surprised you didn’t open the bottle yesterday,” he said, as he brought the glasses through.

“I couldn’t manage to open it,” Stanley said quietly.

“Ah yes, this is you being able to cope.”

Stanley looked up. “I’ve failed everyone: my team, Isabel, you.”

Sherlock, who had been planning on sitting in his armchair came over to the sofa, sat down and put his arm around Stanley.

“No you haven’t, on any account.”

“I failed Isabel. She thought it was all happening again.”

“I know. She told me. But she will get over it. And she will learn that even if bad things happen they don’t have to be as catastrophic as losing both parents.”

“And I couldn’t send her to school today. You would have done.”

“Does it matter? You looked after her, which is all that was important. So, point one, you haven’t failed Isabel.”

“I failed you,” Stanley continued. “You had to leave your case early.”

“That was my choice. As soon as I heard I contacted Mycroft to send someone over to tie up the loose ends and I booked myself onto the first available flight. As I said earlier, I needed to be with my two favourite people. Ergo, point two, you haven’t failed me.”

“You can’t argue that I didn’t fail my team. Two of them were injured and we failed to apprehend the suspects. I made the wrong decision.”

“Stanley, I know you. I know how much planning you put into this operation. There was nothing wrong with your decision making process. Whatever happened was because of events you had no way of being aware of.”

“Moore won’t even let me work at the moment. He’s taking charge instead.”

“Isabel told me that too. She said Moore wants you to ‘recoverate’. Moore holds you in high regard and I am sure he will be hand the work back to you once you have ‘recoverated’ sufficiently. Now, drink your whisky and then if you want to you can tell me what happened.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

The following morning Sherlock prepared to take Isabel to school. Stanley had insisted on joining them for breakfast and was now sitting on the sofa, clearly waiting for them to leave. Sherlock spotted Stanley surreptitiously glancing as his laptop.

“You need to go back to bed,” Sherlock said. “And before you have any ideas, I’m taking your laptop with me.”

Stanley tried glaring at Sherlock, but the glare he received in return was too powerful. Sherlock whispered in Isabel’s ear and she smiled at Stanley.

“Uncle Sherlock says that if you have some more sleep this morning, you can pick me up after school and we can go to that nice café for cake.”

Stanley, who was still desperate to make it up to Isabel for upsetting her, couldn’t resist the plea in her voice, and obediently took himself back to bed.

***

Having taken Isabel to school, Sherlock took his time walking back home. He was concerned about Stanley, not so much about his wounds, which would heal over time, but his mental state. Stanley, when upset about anything, would use his work to provide a distraction.

The first few months after Isabel had come to live with them had flown past. Stanley was much happier working back at the Met and they had both enjoyed the time off during the school summer holidays. They had managed to arrange matters so that one or both of them was free throughout the holiday to look after Isabel and not a day had gone past without the little girl having something to do.

Reality had hit home in the autumn. They were both involved in difficult cases and they took turns to care for Isabel. Sherlock was determined that Isabel continued to feel she belonged in 221B, and to that end wanted them to have as much time with her outside school as possible. Stanley agreed, and would ensure that he was there for her two afternoons a week. (Sherlock had her for two and Greg covered the fifth, an arrangement which Isabel greatly approved up, since Uncle Greg always seemed to have a ready supply of sweets. Mrs Hudson was available for emergencies.)

But that meant that between work and caring for Isabel there was little time for Sherlock and Stanley to spend together by themselves. Inevitably, exhaustion made them both irritable and short with each other. Stanley took to working longer hours when it wasn’t his turn to care for Isabel, and on the days when he was looking after her, as soon as she was in bed he would resort to his laptop. Sherlock was little better, although, conscious that something was wrong, he tried to at least join the other two for meals. They had almost stopped talking to each other except for basic necessities, when Greg had finally intervened.

He had brought Isabel back one day after she had been to his flat after school. Whilst Isabel was getting ready for bed, he had marched into the living room, shut both laptops up, produced two cans of beer which he opened and passed to Sherlock and Stanley, and told them to talk whilst he was reading Isabel’s bedtime story. The tactic had worked and when Greg came back downstairs he found the other two sitting closer to each other on the sofa than they had done for over a month.

Inevitably, there continued to be problems at times. Sherlock knew that Stanley was worse than he was at expressing his emotions. When Stanley’s mother was given weeks to live, Stanley ensured that he was the first of his team at work and the last to finish, allowing himself no time to dwell on his mother’s illness. In the end, Sherlock had made a point of meeting him after work.

“I’m told that it’s okay to be upset in these circumstances,” Sherlock began.

Stanley swung round to look at Sherlock. “I’m not upset and Greg should keep his nose out of my business. I don’t feel anything. I saw my mother twice a year. We were never close. And now I’m supposed to be sad.”

Sherlock looked at Stanley and recalled the way he and Isabel had hugged before he left for work that morning. “No, you’re not sad,” he said. “You’re angry. Angry that you never felt as close to your mother as you do towards Isabel. Angry at the waste. That’s okay. Just try not to squash your emotions by working all the time.”

They said no more about it, but Sherlock made a point of shielding Stanley from the well-meaning, but misplaced, words of sympathy from others.

And now Stanley was at home, injured, after a case he was working on had gone wrong. Sherlock knew his partner, unable to go into work, would brood over every small detail.

***

Fortunately, Stanley did sleep for some of the morning, and by the time Mrs Hudson had provided lunch (“just some leftovers, dear, I seem to have accidentally made too much”) and Sherlock had bullied Stanley into arranging a physio appointment for when he was allowed to start using his arm again (“you never went to physio, why are you insisting I go?”), it was time to pick up Isabel from school.

Isabel was delighted to see both her guardians, although Sherlock suspected it had something to do with going to their special café, which was normally reserved for Sunday afternoon tea. Isabel chatted happily about her school day and Sherlock made a point of asking questions to keep her talking, thus distracting Stanley from the darker thoughts that were tugging at the corners of his mind.

Once they had walked back to the flat there were the usual early evening activities and then Isabel demanded that Stanley read to her before she went to sleep. When he came back downstairs Sherlock handed him a large glass of whisky, and shortly afterwards Stanley went to bed.

***

The following morning Sherlock needed to visit Barts, and there were a number of small points that required following up around the city. He told Stanley, as he was leaving, not to overstretch himself, but felt very little confidence that is instruction would be followed.

Sherlock didn’t return until mid-afternoon. He entered the flat and noticed at once the coffee table had been knocked over and there were traces of blood on the floor beside it.

“Stanley, what the hell have you done?” he shouted.

“Nothing!” Stanley muttered from the bathroom and Sherlock heard the bolt being shut.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “I’m coming to have a look.”

Sherlock gave a firm push on the door, and as he expected, it came open. Stanley was sitting on the toilet with his injured arm held against his side, where the wound had started to bleed. He was trying to remove his shirt with the other arm.

“Here, let me,” Sherlock ordered. He ignored Stanley’s objections and removed his shirt and the bandaging around the wound. He looked critically at the injury, cleaned it up, and re-bandaged it.

“I really ought to take you to A&E, but if you go to bed now and rest we can see what it’s like before Greg brings Isabel back. I don’t think you’ve done that much damage, fortunately. Once you are in bed, and not before, we can discuss what you’ve been doing.”

Sherlock disposed of the bloody shirt and then made some tea and, as an afterthought, some sandwiches. He took the tea and sandwiches into the bedroom.

“If I prop you up on the pillows you can have your lunch, which you’ve obviously not bothered with. And then you can tell me why you thought it a good idea to try to recreate the events that led up to your being attacked.”

“I was trying to work out what I’d missed. There shouldn’t have been anyone in the corridor and yet, two people were hidden there. We got back out as soon as we realised we’d walked into an ambush, but I didn’t realise quick enough.”

“The fact that you so successfully replicated the attack to your side leads me to assume you now know what one of your assailants was doing.”

“Yes,” Stanley said ruefully. “It seems fairly certain that we had been given misleading information. I just feel I should have spotted something was wrong quicker.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, that’s now irrelevant. Lie there and rest.”

***

By the time Greg and Isabel arrived Sherlock had ascertained that Stanley hadn’t done sufficient damage to need to return to the hospital. Greg stayed long enough to confirm the arrangements for the trip to Kew on the Saturday and then departed, promising to bring a picnic with him.

Stanley hoped that Sherlock would dissuade Isabel from her now twice daily routine of redoing his bandaging, but this was not the case. Isabel looked critically at Stanley’s side and then carefully replaced the bandage. She left the bedroom hurriedly once she had finished and Stanley could hear muffled sobs coming from the living room.

“Why did you let her see the wound? It’s obviously upset her.” Stanley glared at Sherlock.

“The wound itself hasn’t upset her,” Sherlock replied. “She’s been looking forward to Saturday’s trip and she doesn’t think you’ll be able to come after all.”

“Oh!” Stanley looked contrite.

Sherlock looked at him intently. “I think I can sort this out, but it will need your agreement.”

Stanley nodded.

“Isabel,” Sherlock called out. “Could you come in here, please?”

Isabel came into the bedroom and stood by the door. Sherlock picked her up and sat her on the bed, sitting down beside her.

“I think Uncle Stanley will be well enough to go to Kew with you on Saturday if he stays in bed all tomorrow. He won’t be able to do much walking around when you’re there, so Uncle Greg will have to take you exploring until I arrive, but we can all picnic together. And Mrs Hudson will have to pick you up from school tomorrow afternoon. Will that be alright?”

“Oh, yes!” The little girl smiled and then hugged Sherlock.

“Good. Now carefully give Uncle Stanley a good night kiss, as it’s bed time.”

Isabel did as she was told. Once she had left the room, Stanley began “Look ..”

“Before you begin to argue,” Sherlock interrupted “you have agreed to stay in bed. And I will know if you do more than take yourself to the bathroom. I am aware how much you want to get on with the case and how hard you find it doing nothing, but you need to give your body the time to get better.”

“This is blackmail.”

“I know. But if that’s what it takes then I am prepared to descend to such tactics. And now I suggest that you too go to sleep.”

Sherlock leaned across and kissed Stanley. He watched as Stanley lay down and the pain and worry eased from his face as he fell asleep. Then Sherlock went upstairs to tell his other charge that she too should put her book down and go to sleep.

***

The trip to Kew had gone well, and although they had been unable to visit as much of the Gardens as Isabel would have liked, she had been mollified with the promise of a return trip in a few weeks’ time. It was now Sunday evening, Isabel was in bed and Stanley and Sherlock were idly watching a historical drama on the television. Sherlock was pointing out the anachronisms, whilst Stanley was pulling the plot to bits.

Stanley’s phone rang and he picked it up. “Hopkins.”

“Moore here. I know you’re not due back at work until tomorrow, but I thought I’d better contact you tonight. You are aware that a second team was working on another part of the operation you were involved in. Late this afternoon they moved in to arrest the suspects. Something went wrong and DI Sullivan was killed instantly and DS Rackman is seriously injured in hospital.”

The phone fell out of Stanley’s hand. Sherlock leaned over and picked it up.

“This is Sherlock Holmes,” he said.

“DCI Moore. Please tell Stanley that he is not to return to the office until I phone him again. I am sure he will tell you all you need to know.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Stanley had slept badly and now looked grey and miserable. He half-stumbled into the kitchen, and Sherlock told him to sit down and pushed a mug of tea into his hands. As Isabel clattered into the kitchen Stanley seemed to shrink into himself and the girl looked at him critically.

“What’s the matter, Uncle Stanley? Is your side very painful this morning?” she asked.

“Uncle Stanley’s had some bad news,” Sherlock replied. “And it’s upset him.”

“Oh!”

Isabel looked worried.

“It’s okay,” Sherlock hastened to reassure her. “It’s about someone Uncle Stanley worked with. It’s not anyone you know.”

Isabel still looked sad, but the panic faded from her eyes. She accepted the bowl of cereal Sherlock handed her and began to eat.

“Who’s taking me to school today?” she asked as she crunched her cornflakes.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Sherlock replied.

“I can do it,” Stanley said. “I promise to come back here afterwards.”

“Okay!”

Sherlock looked closely at Stanley, but could see no indication that he wouldn’t keep his word. If anything, the fact that Stanley was prepared to return to the flat worried Sherlock more than the thought that he might break his promise and go into work. It was as if the previous night’s news had taken all the fight out of him.

Once Moore had rung off Stanley had told Sherlock of Sullivan’s death. Stanley had known Sullivan well, and although they hadn’t always agreed on how best to do their policing, there had always been a level of respect between the two inspectors. The death had badly unsettled Stanley, and, coupled with the instruction that he was not to return to work, left him completely drained.

Mechanically, Stanley headed into the bathroom to wash and shave, but dressed in old jeans and a baggy jumper that showed the result of having suffered from one or two of Sherlock’s experiments.

“I thought you were going to work today?” Isabel asked whilst putting her school shoes on.

“No, I’m having a few more days off,” Stanley answered.

“’Cos you’re not quite well enough yet?”

“Er, yes, something like that.”

As they left Sherlock had a quiet word with Stanley, wanting to be sure that he was going to come back. He himself had received a summons from Mycroft, who had details of the case he had been working on in Prague when Stanley had been injured.

***

Later that morning Stanley was sitting on the sofa watching daytime television. His laptop sat unopened and there was a half mug of cold coffee on the table. His phone rang, so he answered it mechanically. “Hopkins.”

“DI Hopkins, this is Superintendent Richmond from E Division. Can you meet me at the Green Man in half an hour?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh and Hopkins, dress casually, no suit.”

He rang off and Stanley went to get changed. He might have been told to dress casually, but he doubted that went as far as a jumper with chemical burns and a sleeve that had been set on fire.

He didn’t know Richmond, so he tried to spot him amongst the other lunchtime drinkers when he entered the pub.

Fortunately the superintendent recognised him, because he approached, shook hands and said “Ah Stanley, glad you could make it. Let me introduce you to Phil. Phil, this is Stanley.”

“Delighted to meet you. Martin’s been telling me all about you,” Phil responded.

Stanley shook hands with Phil, who went to get a round in.

Stanley sat down at a small table. “I was surprised to hear from you, Martin.”

“Yeah, well, you know how these things go. I came across something that I thought might appeal to you. We’ll wait for Phil to join us and then I’ll explain.”

Once Phil had brought the pints over Martin continued. “We shouldn’t be overheard, but we’ll keep this on first name terms. Less likelihood of a slip up when we leave as well.”

Stanley nodded. Phil clearly was already in the picture.

“You will have realised that there’s been a massive cock-up with the case you’ve been working on. We have to assume that somebody, maybe more than one, is providing information. The case is therefore being taken completely away from your department and so there is no need for you to return to work until you are fully recovered. My understanding is this may take up to four weeks.”

Stanley looked ready to object forcibly, but Phil put a hand on his arm and said “Try not to draw attention to us if you can.”

Martin continued, “I understand from DCI Moore that you are not the sort of bloke to sit around at home kicking your heels, but that is basically what we’re going to ask you to do. We believe that whoever has been leaking information is disaffected and seeking to recruit others to their cause. The group behind this has a lot of money and we think they are essentially buying up police officers. If you are apparently being ignored then this should make you a good candidate in their eyes.”

“What do I do?”

“Keep a record of all those who contact you and what they have to say, and pass them on to your handler. It is essential that we keep at a distance. Otherwise you can do whatever you would naturally do were you on an enforced leave.”

“Right.   I can foresee at least one problem.”

“Which is?”

“I live with Sherlock Holmes. There’s no way I could convince him that I was purely on sick leave, even if I wanted to.”

“That’s already been thought of. Someone is speaking to Holmes . He will have his own part to play.”

Stanley nodded. “For ‘someone’ read Mycroft.”

“Was there anything else?”

“How dangerous will this be? We have a child living with us and I will not ...”

Again Stanley’s voice grew louder and Phil once more urged caution.

“There is no danger. We are talking of contact by phone or email only. From what we can tell initial personal contact is made on neutral ground.”

“Okay.” Stanley seemed reasonably satisfied. “I suppose I have no choice. Who will my handler be?”

“DI Lestrade will be your main contact. And yes, he has already told us quite graphically what will happen if anyone as much as touches a hair on Isabel’s head.”

“Good. How long will this go on for?”

“As I said, four weeks maximum. After which if nothing has happened we can assume that you were too squeaky clean for them to even consider.”

The meeting had come to an end and the three men stood up and shook hands.

“Right, Stanley, we’ll be in touch.”

“Yeah, good to see you again, Martin. Nice meeting you, Phil”

As he left the pub Stanley was not surprised to receive a text message.

<Home in half an hour. Will discuss then>

“What kept you?” Sherlock asked as Stanley walked into the flat.

“Stopped off at the bookshop on the way back. I thought, since I’m going to be stuck at home, I’d find a new book to read to Isabel.”

“What did you get?”

“The Hobbit.”

“Good choice.”

***

Friday morning Sherlock phoned Mycroft as soon as Stanley had left to take Isabel to school.

“This is not working,” Sherlock said. “It was all I could do to get Stanley to get up this morning. I had to phone Greg to take him to his physio appointment yesterday.”

“That sounds ideal. Someone should contact him by the end of next week.”

“No, that’s too long.”

“Sherlock, you knew this wouldn’t be a quick operation.”

“ _You_ know that he lives for his work and this is destroying him. It’s hard enough for me to deal with him at the moment, but it’s starting to upset Isabel. She doesn’t understand what’s going on, she’s started having nightmares again, and even then Stanley didn’t get up for her and normally he’ll be straight out of bed as soon as he hears her cry.”

“I would say that everything is working out just as we want, but I imagine that you are not prepared to wait. In which case I suggest that the three of you go to my cottage on the Downs for the weekend.”

“I thought we were supposed to stay where we were.”

“Having a weekend away won’t jeopardise the plan. And whilst you’re there it might be a good idea to say something to Isabel so that she has a better understanding of what is happening. If she knows that this is part of Stanley’s job and that it is important she doesn’t talk about it she should be less prone to nightmares.”


	4. Chapter 4

The weekend away proved to be exactly what all three needed.

Stanley’s self-neglect had let his hair grow to shoulder length, and it was straggly. On the Saturday morning Isabel looked at him critically and demanded his hair brush. He sat quietly while she brushed his hair, enjoying the sensation and finding it surprisingly relaxing. Once she was satisfied with her work she tied it back with one of her hair bobbles.

As soon as she left the room, Stanley asked, “Okay, which one is it?”

“You’re in luck,” Sherlock replied. “You’ve got the dalmatians.”

“So long as no-one expects me to wear it when we’re out.”

They made good progress reading through ‘The Hobbit’. To encourage Isabel in her reading Stanley had suggested she read Bilbo’s words, whilst he took the dwarves, using different accents for each of them and being corrected periodically when he forgot which was which. Sherlock got to play Gandalf as well as all the bad guys.

“Why do I have to be the baddies?”

“Because you do nasty voices better.”

They had explained to Isabel that Uncle Stanley was doing some work from home whilst he was recovering. Conscious of her past they were careful to make it clear that it was a job he was asked to do whilst he was getting better and not one that required him to pretend to be someone else. She had asked why Stanley had been acting differently and he had told her that he had been upset because he had been hurt and couldn’t work with his team, but that having some time away with his two favourite people had made him feel much better.

However, by mid morning on the Monday, there had still been no contact and Stanley was finding it hard to maintain the positive attitude he had regained over the weekend. It didn’t take long for Sherlock to notice.

“You need to find something to keep yourself occupied,” he said.

“I thought I was supposed to be sitting around.”

“To be honest I think it would be less suspicious if you were doing something. You’re more or less fully recovered. Anyone who knows you would expect you to be active.”

“I had been thinking of painting the sitting room,” Stanley said.

“Sounds perfect. I’m afraid I shall be out quite a bit this week.”

***

Two days later, Stanley had made good progress with the painting. He had completed three walls, but was undecided as to the colour of the fourth wall. Sherlock was no help, beyond saying that black or dark red would be dramatic, which Stanley ignored. Mrs Hudson was quite happy with whatever Stanley chose, trusting his judgement rather than Sherlock’s.   Accordingly, Stanley had told Isabel they’d go and choose something suitable when he picked her up after school.

At lunch time Stanley received two emails from colleagues asking how he was and suggesting that they arrange to meet up. He replied, agreeing and asking when and where would be suitable. He then sent a text to Greg asking him to come over late that afternoon to give him a hand moving the furniture, which he knew Greg would understand meant he had information to pass on.

Stanley collected Isabel and as they walked along they discussed what colour paint they were going to buy. Suddenly, Stanley became aware that a car had drawn up beside them and at practically the same moment two men came up behind them. The car door opened and one of the men pushed Stanley in the back “Get in!”

Stanley thought briefly about resisting, but with Isabel with him his options were limited. He got in the back of the car, and the man who was already there shuffled across slightly to make room for him. The man who had pushed him got in as well and pulled a hood over Stanley’s head. There was some muttering from outside and then Stanley realised that Isabel was being shoved onto his lap. He put his arms around her to try to give her as much reassurance as he could.

***

When Greg arrived at 221B he was surprised to find Stanley and Isabel weren’t home. He let himself in and checked his phone for any messages. In view of the text he had received earlier he knew that Stanley would have contacted him should they have been held up. There was nothing so Greg sent a text to Richmond using his work phone, whilst calling Sherlock on his personal mobile.

Sherlock answered promptly. “Greg, what’s happened?”

“I’m at the flat. Stanley texted me to call round but he’s not back. Have you heard anything?”

“No. And nothing from the school, so he must have Isabel with him. I’m on my way.”

“Right. Richmond’s on the other phone. Keep in touch!”

Greg gave Richmond all the information he had and agreed to stay at Baker Street, pending further developments.

***

Stanley sat silently in the car. He was keen to find out as much as possible, but didn’t want to upset Isabel anymore than she was already. As far as he could tell they were taking an extremely circuitous route, but he was unable to work out where they were heading.

The first man broke the silence. “So, Hopkins, what can you tell me?”

Stanley’s first reaction was to snarl “Nothing,” but he was aware of how much of a disadvantage he was in. He decided to try to buy some time. “Not much.”

“Possibly true. But we can begin with what little you do know.”

Stanley could feel the anger inside himself growing. He had agreed to undertake this particular job only because he had been assured that Isabel would be safe. And now he was in the worst possible situation. He decided to tell the man everything he knew, in the hope that they would let Isabel go.

Suddenly there was a squeal of tyres and the driver swore loudly, as did the man in the front passenger seat. The car stopped suddenly and Stanley could hear the car doors opening. He ripped off the hood, ready to take any opportunity to escape. His interrogator gave a yell of pain, whilst the man on the other side groaned. The interrogator was bent double, so Stanley delivered a blow to the back of his neck, then lifted Isabel and pushed the two of them past the incapacitated man.

Once outside he saw Phil, who had been at his meeting with Richmond, handcuffing the driver. On the other side of the car Sherlock and Greg were pushing the two other gang members towards the police van that was parked further up the road.   Stanley waited until they had handed them over and then he and Isabel went to join them.

Isabel tugged at Stanley’s hand. “I did something naughty,” she began.

“Sweetheart, you did nothing naughty at all. You were very brave.”

“You remember we saw that programme when a lady hit a man with her knee and you said you should only do that to very bad men. Well, that’s what I did to the man in the car.”

Stanley squeezed Isabel’s hand. “You did the right thing. He was a very bad man.”

Stanley and Isabel had just reached Greg and Sherlock when Richmond himself walked over.

“You were told to wait whilst my officers dealt with the situation,” he snapped.

Greg and Sherlock both looked at Richmond angrily, but it was Stanley who moved towards him.

“You said Isabel would be safe,” he began, but got no further as Greg grabbed him and Sherlock stood between Stanley and Richmond.

“Walk away,” Sherlock said. He picked Isabel up and pushed her into Stanley’s arms, thus preventing the punch that Stanley was about to land.

“Shock,” Greg said to Richmond, before following the others.

A sleek black car was waiting for them. Stanley looked reluctant to get in, but Sherlock reassured him.

“Mycroft occasionally has his uses,” he said.

They headed back to Baker Street, stopping only to drop Greg off to pick up pizza and ice cream.

Once inside Stanley said quietly to Sherlock, “I suppose I should go in for my debrief.”

“No, Greg’s your handler. He can do it later.”

“Okay.”

None of the men felt very much like eating, but nonetheless they forced themselves to do so to give Isabel an air of normality. Sherlock wondered what impression it gave Isabel that being abducted was normal, but decided that having spent her early years with John and Mary she probably had different expectations of normal from that of most children.

As they finished eating Stanley began to shake.

Greg noticed and said to Isabel, “I’m afraid that Uncle Stanley and I need to have a proper police talk about what happened. We need to ask you a few questions too, so I’ve asked Sergeant Donovan and Auntie Molly to talk to you in Mrs Hudson’s sitting room. Would that be alright?”

Isabel nodded and trotted down the stairs to find them.

Sherlock said, “I should go with her, as her guardian.”

“In the circumstances I think it would be better if Molly represents you, unless you have a particular objection to her doing so,” Greg replied.

“No, that’s fine. It’s probably better that way,” Sherlock said with a sigh.

“She’ll need you tonight,” Greg said, and added quietly, “They both will.”

Greg joined Stanley in the living room, whilst Sherlock worked on his laptop in the kitchen. Stanley told Greg what had happened, finishing by saying “I was ready to tell them everything to protect Isabel. I can’t do this anymore.”

“No-one expected Isabel to get caught up in it. And you’re not the only one to feel like that. Both Sherlock and I have bruised knuckles from ensuring those goons came quietly.”

At this point Sherlock called out “Have you two finished the tedious bit yet? Because we need to discuss the important bits.”

“Sherlock,” Greg began.

“It’s okay,” Stanley said, “Let him in. He’s only going to say what we’ve all been thinking.”

Sherlock came in. “You can start; then I can elaborate on what you’ve left out.”

Stanley nodded in acknowledgment. “Whoever the mole is they were aware of the whole plan. They wanted Isabel to be with me – otherwise they could have easily taken me when I was on my way to get her.”

Sherlock said, “With the intention that everyone thinks that now they’ve upped the ante, we’re not going to risk crossing them.”

Stanley answered, “Too right. I’ll resign rather than do anything more.”

“It won’t come to that. You told Greg you’d received the contact emails, but no-one else. So how did you think we found you so fast?”

“I assumed that Mycroft performed his wizardry.”

“He didn’t need to. It turned out there was a team that Richmond had almost ready and waiting.”

“He knew?” Stanley asked.

“Must have done,” Greg answered. “As you would expect I contacted him to let him know that something had happened. But his response was slightly off, so I phoned Sherlock back and we made our own arrangement.”

“Your abductors had expected to be able to run once the car was stopped,” Sherlock continued. “The expression on the man’s face just before I hit him was priceless. Greg’s looked the same.”

“So,” Stanley was working things through. “Everyone keep back – safer that way. Officer stops the car, occupants leap out. I do nothing because I have Isabel.”

“Precisely. Except Greg and I take out two, Inspector Grainger cuffs the third – I doubt he was involved in the plan, but we will find out. I’m not sure what happened to the fourth.”

“Isabel delivered a knee to the goollies,” Stanley answered.

“Excellent,” Greg said.

“What happens next?” Stanley asked.

“There’s a good chance one or more of those arrested will talk,” Greg said. “Richmond normally sends people to one particular set of holding cells. Unfortunately they were badly flooded this afternoon. And the alternate cells have two of the most pernickety custody sergeants in the Met.”

“Wainwright and Birtwistle.”

“Exactly. So there’s no way anyone can arrange a prisoner release without it being meticulously recorded.”

There was a knock on the door. Sherlock went to open it and let in Isabel, Sally and Molly. Sherlock gave Sally an enquiring glance and she replied, “Everything’s okay. And we’ve all eaten a large number of Mrs Hudson’s jam tarts.”

Sherlock looked fondly at the little girl. “I had already deduced that from the jam around your face.”

“It’s okay, Uncle Sherlock. Mrs Hudson had said she’ll make some more for you.”

***

Later that evening Stanley received a call to say that Richmond had indeed been implicated in the abduction by one of the prisoners and that given this statement the others were likely to provide further evidence. Phil Grainger had confirmed that he had decided to accompany the officer who stopped the car, because he had not been entirely happy with the way Richmond planned to run the operation. Richmond had tried to persuade him not to, but hadn’t actually forbidden it, probably because he hadn’t wanted to draw undue attention to his plan.

Stanley had also been told that he could return to work the following morning, but he had requested a couple more days’ sick leave.

Sherlock had been surprised at this, and later, when they were squashed together in the larger of the armchairs, Isabel being asleep on the sofa, he mentioned this to Stanley.

Stanley kissed Sherlock’s neck and murmured that he hadn’t finished painting the sitting room.


End file.
